


Stumble Through Heaven

by Inspirationalmisquotes



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: All I am is Sin, Dirty Talk, Excuse to put Rey in a dress, F/M, Forbidden Love, Force Sexting, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealous Kylo Ren, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Smut, Smutty Trash Fire, Teasing, pseudo-sacrilege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspirationalmisquotes/pseuds/Inspirationalmisquotes
Summary: Rey is certain somewhere in the astral plane, Siths of old Legend and Jedi Knights alike are collectively clutching their pearls and fainting in horror.This is their legacy. This is what remains of their esteemed, noble order.Two emotionally unstable bickering kids fucking each other’s brains out in what’s shaping up to be the scandal of the century.





	1. Chapter 1

“Who loves you?” His gloved hand twists in her loose hair, pulling her back into a painful arch.

Weeks ago she would have held out. Stubbornness alone would have been enough to secure her silence.

She knows better, now.

“You do.” She says, and he rewards her with a hard, vicious stroke that she feels in her molars.

“That’s right.” He coos. Rey gasps at the shock of heat and weight as he presses his chest to her back. “That’s right, little Jedi.”

He grips the edges of the table and sets a brutal, merciless pace.

Rey is certain somewhere in the astral plane, Siths of old Legend and Jedi Knights alike are collectively clutching their pearls and fainting in horror.

This is their legacy. This is what remains of their esteemed, noble order.

Two emotionally unstable bickering kids fucking each other’s brains out in what’s shaping up to be the scandal of the century.

They didn’t mean for it to happen. Rey didn’t, at least. But neither of them meant for it to keep happening. The first time was the “only time.” The second time was the “last time.” And so on and so on.

It started with the force bond. Rey can’t remember exactly what had gotten them so riled up-- the bond had connected them right before bed, and she had been wearing one of Poe’s shirts, or something, and Kylo had an absolute _fit_ , and told her to take off the shirt, and she’d refused, and he’d tried to pull it off her, and everything else is a hazy, sex-addled blur.

The fleeting memory of Poe at the forefront of her consciousness sends a shock of anger rattling painfully around her skull.

He is jealous. In his mind, every boy that looks her way is trying to take her away from him. And he is childishly insecure.

Rey knows to expect the hand on the back of her neck before she feels it.

“Enjoying yourself?” He angles his hips cruelly, so the head of his shaft nudges her cervix. “Imagining someone else?”

A lesser woman may have tried to smooth his ruffled feathers. Stroke his wounded ego.

“Yes.” She says. “Do you mind?”

And oh, she pays for that.

Rey leaves their rendezvous site hours later, wobbling like a newborn colt, her cunt still clenching sporadically on nothing, as if the muscles are cramping from overuse. She rejoins her friends. They see her torn clothes and glassy eyes and commend her, because obviously she’s exhausted, she’s fought long and hard, and she barely escaped with her life.

In a way, they’re right.

“Must have given the bastard one helluva fight, Kid.” Poe whistles and claps her on the back. “Leia will have a stroke when she hears you snuck off.”

Rose taps her fingertips together delicately in a parody of clapping. “Rey,” she says, nervously. “You-- You didn’t tell us you were going to follow him to Dantooine. You could have gotten hurt.”

Rey shifts her weight, guiltily adjusting her clothes. “I…” she runs her fingers through her hair and realizes she never put it back up after _he_ let it down. “Sorry, Rose.” she smiles, avoiding her concerned eyes. “I really thought I had him this time.”

Rey knows how she must look. Debauched. Decrepit.

 _Ruined,_ he had called her. _For every man but me._

“You’ll catch him one of these days, Peanut.” Finn loops his arms beneath hers and crushes her to his chest.

Rey feels so guilty she almost confesses everything to him then, on the spot.

_Don’t. You. Dare._

He's right. Their best-kept secret is, admittedly, best kept secret. But his tone aggravates her. So she hugs Finn tighter. _Don’t tell me what to do._

_Don’t_ touch _him._

Rey hugs Finn tighter, and feels the stabbing pain of his anger and jealousy ratchet to such an unbearable height, her vision darkens at the corners.

He hates being neglected almost as much as being disobeyed.

She’ll pay for that as well, but in the best possible way.

Kylo is unfailingly entitled and bossy in bed. He pushes down on her head when she sucks his cock. He calls her ‘easy for him.’ He pins her wrists and crushes her into the mattress with only his height and weight.

It’s all so raunchy, all so deliciously cliché. A forbidden romance with a filthy twist.

What will poor Luke Skywalker think of them now?

It would be a little less reprehensible if they could at least manage to contain their trysts to the force bond. But they’re far past waiting for a convenient ten-minute stretch of alone time to fall into their laps. Now they’re making excuses. Taking time off. Stealing away to remote moons and bases and alcoves and storage closets every time their paths come close to crossing.

Theirs is an an archetype so dignified.

“Spread your legs, Scavenger. Wider. Show me your pretty pink pussy. Show how wet it is for me.”

Theirs is an old dance, one with honor and gravitas.

“Fuck, your clit is so _fucking_ swollen.” He flicks it with his thumbnail and she squeaks.

The Sith and the Jedi. Vessels of the Light and Dark. Mortal enemies.

“ _Ben,_ Benny, please—“

Two pure, chaste, unwavering forces of nature created to oppose each other.

“What do you need, baby? Does the brave little Jedi need the big bad darksider’s cock?”

Rey keens. It hurts. Her insides ache for him.

“What was that?” He leans over her tauntingly, thumbs spreading her folds so her clit juts out, hard swollen, throbbing bright pink.

“I need your cock.” She says.

His eyes gleam. “There’s a good girl.”

And he kicks her legs open and fucks her raw.

It feels like sacrilege.

It feels like home.

Rey never saw herself doing a lot of this— never even _heard_ about most of it— before she met Kylo Ren.

He is her sworn enemy. Some fated, predetermined nemesis, incarnate of an ancient grudge, the fallen angel who can only be redeemed through death. They are to be enemies until one kills the other. It is the will of the force.

Rey gives this a lot of thought while he’s sucking on her clit like it’s candy.

Her friends think it’s the pressure. They think her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks are a sign of overexertion. Of stress.

“She’s a kid, for kriff’s sake.” She overhears Poe telling Leia, perfectly livid on her behalf, and at no one in particular. “She’s got the galaxy on her shoulders.”

Rey knows what she’s doing is treasonous, but it’s _that_ that makes her realize how awful she is. They all think she’s a hero. They all think she’s brave, flinging herself into Kylo Ren’s warpath. As if she’s some plucky little underdog armed with nothing but moxy and a slingshot, defending her friends from the monster.

The reality is, she only flings herself into the monster’s warpath in the hopes that he’ll fuck her.

She can’t call it making love. She can barely call it an affair.

They’re fucking.

Except.

_Except._

There’s this one thing he does.

The planet the resistance has chosen to hide out on is a far cry from the snow-logged bunkers and ramshackle bases of old. They’ve staked out on a little blue moon orbiting Naboo. It seems the whole moon is a city; a glittering, upscale network of train rails and towers and nonsensical trends.

It’s customary for girls there to wear dresses with bows in the back, the kind you need a mirror, three hands, and an hour of hard work to get into. At least in Rey’s experience.

Ben has this thing about the dresses. He likes them. He likes them a lot.

Whenever the bond connects them, he bends her over the table with a hand on the back of her neck and undoes the bows with his teeth.

Every time.

He smatters kisses between her shoulder blades, pressing his lips to every vertebrae, pinning her wrists to the table and languidly dragging his lips up and down her spine. It isn’t desperate. It isn’t particularly erotic. It’s lovelorn. Besotted.

It’s moments like that where the walls she’s put up wear thin, and Rey comes dangerously close to understanding the depths of his love. There’s something about it that’s keenly obsessive, almost miserly, like he’s running gold coins through his fingers every time he touches her skin.

But he always hikes up her dress and drills her like a monster afterwards, which helps to balance things out.

Sometimes, Rey catches herself. She likes to lie on his chest afterwards-- mostly because she doesn’t want to lie on cold durasteel or plexiplastic or the forest floor, or wherever it is they’ve ended up. And maybe a little because it’s cozy. And warm. And safe. And no one’s ever held her like that before.

It’s then that she catches herself. She buries her fingers in his hair and strokes down the bridge of his odd, darling nose. She kisses his ears, which makes him blush. She threads their fingers together. And she always stops herself, but never soon enough.

Still.

Rey’s tells may be more obvious. But it’s Ben who’s further gone.

He makes her say ludicrous things. Things she should hate him for. That she loves his cock. That she’s sorry for hurting him. That he fills her up so good. That she’ll love him till all the stars burn out.

She loves him. She loves him. She loves him.

He never gets tired of hearing it.

The force bond is intended to be a sacred spiritual connection forged between masters and padawans. They use it to send each other depraved mental images and talk dirty during war councils.

“Ben.” She hums through the bond to get his attention.

“What? I’m holding court.” He's trying to sound irritated, but he only sounds eager. Like always.

Rey hooks her heels over either side of her cot, spreads herself with two fingers. She clicks a picture of her flushed, sopping pussy, and Kylo rattles off the locations of first order bases until she sends it to him.

She has heard from him the tragedy of Padme Amidala and Anakin Skywalker. And somehow she knows, without knowing, their affair was nothing like this.

The slave and the senator. Childhood friends. Rey imagines their moments together to have been fraught and sweet, stolen kisses and sleepy sunrises waking in the same bed.

She and Kylo, meanwhile, are in the middle of a valiant attempt to have sex in every position physically possible.

They’re very ambitious.  
At first, he was shy, almost sweet. Could he touch her breasts while they kissed? Could he put them in his mouth? Did it feel good?

Now, when he wants her, he messages her a time and place and barely waits for her to cross the threshold before turning her over and taking her like he owns her.

She’s screamed his name one too many times, and now he thinks he’s _all that._ It’s all gone straight to his big head. 

Now he won’t let her come till she tells him she loves him. Sometimes he’ll make her elaborate.  
She’ll never forget the time he stopped eating her out mid-lick, sat back on his heels, and said, “You can do better than that.”

This, though, is maybe the worst of it.

“Who loves you, Sweetheart?”

“You do.”

Kylo is standing behind her, with the very tip of his cock notched inside her pussy, sore and puffy from overstimulation. Both his hands are resting on her hips, stroking the skin, gently pinning her in place so she can’t rut back onto him.

“That’s right.” he says, in a honey-sweet voice she’s learned to dread. “How much?”

“Ben...”

“You don’t _have_ to come, I suppose.” He sighs dramatically. Always so dramatic, this one.

She simpers. And caves. “With all your heart.”

“Yes.” He settles his body on top of hers. Finally. He kisses her temple. “And for how long?”

She doesn’t fight it. She’s about ready to give up fighting him altogether.

It’s all for show, anyway.

“Till all the stars burn out.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wouldn't continue this, but-- *gestures to below text*-- chapter two just kind of happened.  
> Hope you enjoy! :)

A part of her thinks this time it might be real.

This might be it. The denouement. The grand finale.

They were born to fight each other. It is why they _exist_. They were cut and sewn by fate, stitched together out of stardust. All so one could triumph over the other.

“We are vessels of the force.” she tells him, over and over again, while he cajoles and teases and pulls on her clothes, laughing at her through the dark.

“We’re people.” is what he tells her. “We are our own.”

Someday she’ll win that argument, but not today. It isn’t a real fight. It never is.

This time the walls around them are stone, high and cold, plastered with runes, a maze of pillars and uneven spears of sunlight canting through the gaps in the ceiling. Rey can’t pronounce the name of the place, but she knows it’s something ancient and sacred. A Jedi temple. Or a Sith one. She can’t remember.

They all look the same.

“We meet again.” his voice grinds through the modulator; sinister, oddly melodic.

Rey clenches her fists to stop her hands trembling.

Kylo Ren looms like a phantom out of the darkness. The hem of his robes graze the light.

Rey puts her hand on her hip where his old saber is fastened.

His laugh echoes around them. It swallows her up. “Have you come to kill me?” he coos.

Rey flushes. Part of her really _does_ want to fight him. She’s dying to know if she’d win.

“You wouldn’t.” 

The mask comes off. Click, hiss, rattle. It thuds to the floor and rolls of the dais.

Rey takes a step back. Gravel snaps and crunches underfoot.

Kylo stalks closer, eyes sparkling with something akin to mirth. He likes that she’s still loathe to trust him. She knows a part of him thinks she deserves to be afraid.

He holds out a gloved hand to her and crooks his fingers. “Come here.”

So it goes.

She doesn’t even draw her saber this time. There’s no use pretending.

Her friends have stopped fretting over her now, when she breaks away from the fight to seek  
him out. They all think she’s unkillable. They all think _he_ runs from _her_. 

Now, instead pleading for her to stay, they all sing her praises and cheer her on.

Finn isn’t afraid of him anymore. Rose thinks Rey must be the most powerful Jedi that ever lived. BB is endearingly clueless, Leia is wary, and Poe might be starting to get suspicious.

But whatever the consequences, present or prospective, nothing stops the two of them from meeting. They’re pulled back together every time. Sometimes through the bond, sometimes in person. On Corellia. On Dagobah. While they were staked out on a base on Yavin, Rey fell ill, and he came to her room every day for a week to lie next to her and read her poetry. He halted his troops and didn’t advance an inch until she was well again. A week later they had a row on Kamino that ended in a lightsaber-battle turned sex in a thunderstorm.

They’ve had sex on almost every planet in four systems. And it’s only “almost” because Rey drew the line at a Jedi memorial site on Coruscant-- something Kylo finds hopelessly funny. It was the first time she ever saw him laugh.

He thinks it’s funny to quote scripture while he’s inside her. Rey screws her eyes shut and casts silent apologies into the void on his behalf.

He lectures her on slave morality and the righteous path of chastity and service while he fucks her on her hands and knees.

“When there is no emotion, there is peace. When there is no passion, there is serenity.”  
Always a particularly aggressive thrust on “passion.”

Rey doesn’t have the self-control to make him stop. She can only pray the ghosts of the Four Councils of the lost Jedi order are out to lunch and not watching _this._

When she was four, Rey learned how to flutter her eyelashes.

It used to get her scraps. Crusts of bread, bits of salvage.

She’s found it works on Kylo as well as it did the traders at Niima.

It works even better with her mouth around his cock.

“Yes, yes, yes.” his voice is a deep, sinister timbre, syllables running together, spilling through clenched teeth. He looks ruined. Hunched forward, hair in his eyes. Snarling on every exhale. “ _Fuck_ yes.”

Rey knows she isn’t any good at this. She can never fit all of him in her mouth and she chokes and scrapes him with her teeth. But she makes a fool out of him anyway.

She pulls off and bats her lashes at him, like he’s a merchant at Niima selling toffee. She licks her lips and he shudders, cock bobbing wet and red against his stomach. “Ben,” she says. A kiss. A kitten-lick.

“What do you want.” his head knocks against the sandstone column. He knows the drill by now.

“That base, on Bespin.”

He grinds his teeth. “Rey-- do you-- you know how-- Be--” he fists his hair, features wrenched into something menacing.

She tilts her head and brushes lazy kisses across the shaft. “Please?”

“Yes.” he snaps. “You can have a thousand fucking bases, just don’t--”

She takes him back into her mouth.

He might walk back that promise later, but he won’t forget it. These Siths and their ridiculous code of honor.

He’s so easy. All she has to do is carry on and cry when he “tries to hurt her” and he pulls his forces back within the same hour he advanced. She astounded he’s managed to retain control of his army this long.

“Do you think we’re the only ones?” Kylo muses. He sounds lofty, and smug, and maybe just a little sex-drunk. That gets her attention. He catches her eye, and in an instant, his eyes refocus, his jaw clenches, and the tenderness dissipates. He’s always wearing a mask.

His hand threads through her hair and pulls her upright.

“The only ones?” She wraps her legs around him, ankles tangling in the sash that hangs from her belt. He walks across the dais to a wide stone table, his hand cradling her head.

“You know.” There’s a rare, wonderful, awful upward quirk in the corner of his mouth. “The only “vessels of the force” who fucked on every planet in six systems?”

He loves to remind her.

It’s all so terribly gauche. Theirs is no forbidden romance. It’s a tabloid scandal.

And someday _everyone_ is going to find out.

He’s trying to get a rise out of her. It’s not going to work. Rey tucks her chin against his shoulder. His armor is so cold it hurts her skin.

“That’s not true, or even possible.” she grouses.

“But it sounds impressive, doesn’t it?”

Her back hits the stone. It’s cracked and blade-scoured. She thinks it might be an offering table.  
Rey tries to scoff and keens at the impossibly high ceiling as he rips the front of her tunic.

“We probably _could_ make love on every planet in six systems.” he muses, groping absently at her chest. “If there was ever time.” Then, with just a hint of spite, “Maybe if you’d marry me.”

Rey starts to protest just as he ducks his head and sucks her breast into his mouth. Rey snaps her teeth down on her bottom lip but she’s too late. A small, startled, breathless noise escapes her.

Kylo draws back, sheds his cape, and peels off his gloves with his teeth. His hands are warm and heavy on her chest. “Now, now,” he tsks. “Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this, little Jedi.” he glances up at the ceiling. “This is a place of worship.”

“Don’t try to make this sacrilegious.” Her tone is razor, sharp, but she’s already blushing.  
“A Jedi is _chaste_.” Kylo clicks his tongue. The blunt, thick head of his cock nudges into her. He makes a low noise of frustration and grips her knees to spread her wider. Her sex flutters, clenches, gives. He presses in. Rey chokes on air.

“A Jedi does not... give in to temptation.” He’s panting now. He looks down at where he’s splitting her open and presses down hard on her stomach with the heel of his hand, crushing her tighter around him. “A Jedi is… is… Force, what’s the rest of it?” his laugh breaks over her like a shock of cold water. “I don’t remember.” he tucks the crown of his head beneath her chin. “It’s been so lo-ng.” he flinches as she clamps down around him.

Rey grasps at his shoulders, nails catching on the fine gold chains and regalia that hold his cloak in place. He’s a king now. She forgets.

“Close, huh?” his voice goes all soft and sweet, like toffee.

That’s how she knows it’s almost done. When she gets him like this, he talks absolute nonsense. He tells her how beautiful she is. How he wishes she were with him. About their empire and their legacy and the children they’re going to have.

She bobs her head yes.

He kisses her cheek. A swift, dry press of his lips.

There you go, force-ghosts in the vicinity. That was innocent enough.

What follows is decidedly not.

Rey shudders. He tilts his hips and grinds down into her, and her orgasm is so intense it’s almost violent; deep and wrenching, like he’s ripping something from her body. She seizes up all over.

“Rey.” he falls across her.

He’s cold and heavy. The sheer breadth of his shoulders crushes her into the stone.

Rey tucks her head and huddles deeper.

They lie there till she makes him get up. She can’t breathe.

He always wants to fix her afterward. Rebraid her hair. Redress her. Lick his spend from between her legs.

She lets him do the last one, with an unconvincing impression of reluctance.

“I can only stall so long.” he murmurs, licking his lips as he crawls back up her body. “The longer we skirt around the battleground, the more restless my army becomes.”

“They’re _your_ men.” she snaps.

“Because they believe I’ll lead them to victory.” his thumb swipes over her cheek in a harsh, pejorative gesture. She half expects him to ruffle her hair. “But I can only dangle victory in front of them for so long. They want a fight. Hux wants a fight.” He examines her carefully. “Do you want a fight, Scavenger?”

She bats his hands away as he tries to help her redress. The shoulder sash of her tunic is ripped clean away. Her belt is missing. “No.” she hisses.

Kylo stares at her. His head tilts down, almost imperceptibly, and Rey catches sight of the thin circulet of steel and silver hidden in his dark hair.

“I won’t wait forever, Rey.” his voice is like all of him. Somber and deadly.

Silence hangs between them in the ancient air. She’s always been just a little bit frightened of him. She thinks maybe she always will be.

“Who loves you.”

“You do.” She doesn’t hesitate.

He kisses her knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Pastel for being the best beta in the world <3 She was the one who inspired me to continue this. Hope you guys enjoyed, and thanks for reading!


End file.
